


Under Different Circumstances

by Leni



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Gen, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 16:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2395595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leni/pseuds/Leni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lex Luthor arrives in Smallville. As always, a bridge and Clark Kent make up the welcome committee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Different Circumstances

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Wrong Song at [Comment Fic](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/561192.html?thread=79066152#t79066152). Prompt: **Clark is human, Lex is a super-powered Kryptonian**

Clark wakes up to murderous blue eyes and the angriest scowl he's ever seen. _You should be dead,_ he thinks, and doesn't realize he's spoken out loud until the other guy flushes - it's easy to see when the color rises to the hairline and beyond - and shakes his head.

He thinks he hears a laugh, but that must be the water still in his ears.

"But I'm not." Then the other guy - older, but not that old - grits out, "Not thanks to you."

Clark tries to remember the last few minutes. He'd been walking by the bridge, taking the long way back home in an effort to avoid his parents for another hour, when he'd seen the silver car drive straight into the river. If he'd been walking any faster, it'd have taken him along. "You fell," he says, blinking away the horror of that moment. He tries to crane his head to look around; it cannot have been as bad as he'd imagined, right?

He catches a glimpse of the broken bridge rail. "It looks even higher up from here," he whispers, now unsure about how _he_ survived, much less the guy trapped inside the car.

 _I should be dead_ , he thinks, and a full body shudder follows that realization.

A hand at his shoulder steadies him. "Easy," the stranger says. "You're damn lucky I didn't hit you," he continues, glancing up in the same direction. His voice has started off quiet, but it picks up a frustrated edge as he goes. "Why the hell did you jump, kid? Are you _nuts_?" 

The question ends in a growl, but he helps Clark into a seating position with gentleness.

Clark has always believed in deeds over words, so he tries to understand how his actions look from the other side. Then he frowns and almost scowls back. "I was trying to save you, you know."

The other guy looks... well, gobsmacked is a good word for what he looks like. "You _are_ crazy."

His response is a reflex: "Am not."

"Or stupid," the other guy allows, peering down at him.

Clark has heard worse insults. He was the smallest kid in his year since he can remember, an easy target, and suddenly shooting up above the rest of his class has so far meant unwieldy, suddenly over-large arms and legs, and embarrassing moments where he trips on nothing but air. It doesn't help that he's the adopted kid of a single child and a city girl, which means he lacks the web of siblings and cousins that would have defended him from bullies in the school yard (not that there were many). The teachers always looked out for him, of course - Smallville is proud to nip violence in the bud - but none of the other kids needed their intervention as much.

So, yes, being called 'stupid' is nothing new.

But the fact that someone who's _just_ met him is the one to do it? Well, that rankles.

"Whatever," he says, oh so smartly.

Chloe would flay him alive if she heard of this. She doesn't believe in passive aggressiveness. She doesn't believe in passive _anything_ , really. If she were here, and had already made sure he still was conscious and had all four limbs, she'd be shaking her head in mock-disappointment. That thought - Chloe laughing at the situation - galvanizes Clark into action. He needs to get out of here.

"Hey. I said, take it easy, big boy," the stranger says.

Clark tries to shake off the hand that rests at his shoulder, keeping him steady, but it's as if an iron band has latched onto him. The struggle doesn't last long, for one of the new bruises at his side announces its presence with a sharp tug. "Fantastic," he grumbles, wincing and subsiding. Not only has he made an idiot out of himself, playing the hero for someone who clearly had everything under control (somehow), but now his mom is going to treat him like he's seven again and has just fallen off the barn roof. "I hate my life."

That makes the other guy chuckle. "Ah, to be fifteen again!"

He's sixteen, but Clark doesn't bother to correct him. "Did you hate your life, too?"

The look he gets in response says he should know the answer to that.

He does - he thinks he does; he can see the silver car drive off the bridge again in his mind's eye, and there's no screech of the breaks to accompany the image - but he doesn't want to talk about it. He _is_ only sixteen, after all, there's stuff he shouldn't have to worry about.

Instead he makes another attempt to stand, but he must be weaker than he thought because he doesn't even shift the grasp that holds him down. "Fine," he relents, and looks the stranger in the eye. "Give me a hand?"

He receives a head shake in response. Clark is about to bristle again, when the other guy pulls up a shiny object from his sodden coat and waves it at him. "I'll do you one better, kid," he says, "and call for help like civilized people do."

"We're less than fifteen minutes away from town," Clark protests.

He really doesn't want to cause a fuss. It's not as if it hurts _that_ much. So he fell off the bridge and almost drowned - it's not like he broke a leg again. He mustn't have hit the water that hard, because aside from the pain around his torso, which feels more as if a vise clamped around him and dragged him out of the water, there's little to complain about.

The other guy frowns. "I thought Smallville was right around the bend."

Clark has to think about that one for a second. "On foot," he clarifies - and gets a confused look. That answers one question, then. Only people from a big city look so puzzled at the idea of walking down the road. 

"You're Luthor's son, aren't you?" That's all he's heard at school and in town these last days. That the Luthor kid was coming from Metropolis to oversee the local plant. He doesn't look much like a kid, despite his absolute lack of hair, but then most of the people talking were the grown-ups. "I don't think you were supposed to arrive yet."

Luthor's son shrugs his shoulders. "Wanted to check out some sites before I made it official."

Now it's his turn to look confused. "There are sites to check out? In Smallville?"

The other guy's face darkens suddenly. "A couple." He shakes his head. "But I was about to make a call..."

"You can't be as smart as they say," -Clark nods toward the cell phone- "if you really think that thing will work. It's still dripping."

Luthor scoffs, shaking the drops off his phone. "For what I paid," he says with the complete confidence of someone who probably has shares in the company that manufactures that brand, "this should work on the moon."

"Would it be wet there?" Clark points out, then wishes he could bite his tongue off.

This is the kind of comment he makes when he thinks he's being witty, but it really comes across as him mouthing off. At least when Chloe does it, she actually _means_ it the way she sounds.

It surprises him to hear the other guy laugh. 

Sense of humor must be different in the city.

"Don't," he warns when Clark tries to get onto his feet again. "We need to be careful. I don't _think_ you've got internal damage" - and he peers at Clark's body as if he could look through it - "but better let a doctor make sure."

Clark groans. Great. By tomorrow the whole of Smallville will be talking about this.

Clark Kent tripped off the bridge. Got rescued by the devil's firstborn.

Typical.

Said firstborn must be thinking along the same lines, because he says, "Believe me. The last thing I want is to have the whole town say I ran over one of their own on my first day here. Having a totaled Porshe paraded around will be enough of a first impression."

Clark would like to protest that, once he's explained how it'd been an accident (that Clark was involved, that is), the town's gossips will leave it alone. But he knows better. Smallville lives up to its name, and as in any other small town, a secret stays a secret only when _absolutely_ no one knows about it.

Or, he thinks, perking up, when it's a Kent with a Kent's secret.

"You could call my dad."

A cocked eyebrow.

"No, really. We're not that far from our farm. Listen, Luthor-" He stops himself at the face Luthor makes. Oh. "Mr. Luthor, I mean..."

"I have a name."

Clark tries to think of something to say. It cannot be this guy's given name. He wasn't paying _that_ much attention to the gossip. "Uh..."

"Lex," the other guy - Lex - fills him in. "Forget the formalities. I almost killed you; you can call me Lex."

"Thanks?" And then, finally catching up with his manners. "And I'm Clark. Kent. Clark Kent."

"Nice to meet you, Clark Kent." The smile he gives is wry. "Wish we were meeting under different circumstances. Now, about calling your father..."

 

The End  
02/10/14


End file.
